As a Servant, as a Lover
by Fears-of-the-Doctor
Summary: Break set the steaming pot on the table top and began slowly cutting himself a slice of the cake that had been left by another servant long before their conversation had started. Mouth full, he said, "it doesn't matter if I read them or not. Say I read a book dedicated to the methods of flight. When I'm finished with it, it doesn't mean I'll be able to stand up from my chair and su


It had been a quiet day, sunny and comfortably warm. Fluffy white clouds had been scuttling across the sky, just visible out of the corner of Break's eye through the open window. Birds were flitting around, twittering and flashing feathers and hopping from branch to branch. His Lady sat at the table not too far from where Break was slouched against the sofa.

"My Lady."

"Hmm?" her voice was sweet, so gentle even when giving him orders. Her pretty, deft fingers lifted another page of her novel.

"You do love those books so," he had said lazily. "What about them do you enjoy enough to reread them?"

Lady Sharon smiled into her teacup. "The author," she said simply. "She explains so well the harsh, beautiful ache of love! From the first kiss to the lovely death of old age! I wish I had the ability to write so artfully!"

Break did not question "the lovely death of old age". As a contractor, Lady Sharon had ceased aging; it must seem romantic to die of old age beside a loved one. Instead, "what makes that love ache so beautifully? Shouldn't it feel nice instead of ache?"

Sharon looked at him playfully. "Haven't you ever been in love?"

"Of course," he replied smoothly. "However, I fear I wouldn't describe it quite like your books do."

"As a servant...?"

"Yes," he smiled. "I love as a servant. Your grandmother, your mother, and you yourself. I love you, but a book would never be written about it. It's simply too boring and commonplace."

"There is nothing commonplace about love!" she flushed; Break was never one to express his feelings without his beat-around-the-bush manor. It felt good to be told she was loved. "No matter what kind, it is always important!"

Break giggled. "I'm just teasing you, no need to get defensive. Would you enjoy another pot of tea? That one is nearly empty."

"Ah, please," Sharon replied. As Break moved about to make another pot of tea, she said," you should read these sometime. They are very good."

He smiled, "you have attempted to force them on me before, my Lady, but the answer remains no," Sharon frowned at his word choice. "Anyways, you read them plenty enough for the both of us!"

"But no matter how many times I've read them!" She said, Break pouring her a new cup of freshly brewed tea. "You'll never understand the novels' complex beauty if you don't see it with your own eyes!"

Break set the steaming pot on the table top and began slowly cutting himself a slice of the cake that had been left by another servant long before their conversation had started. Mouth full, he said, "it doesn't matter if I read them or not. Say I read a book dedicated to the methods of flight. When I'm finished with it, it doesn't mean I'll be able to stand up from my chair and suddenly fly out the window. So it is with these books of yours. I can read the words written by a woman in love, but never truly understand what they mean. I will not know how to be in love when I am finished reading, just like I cannot fly."

He shouldn't have said anything. He was just dooming himself, like the people who say they won't need an umbrella in the morning, and it begins to pour as soon as they head home from work; like the gamblers who say they never lose a bet and then fall into debt a month later. If he had just kept his chatty mouth shut, nothing would've happened.

"Break!" She called down the hall, her little pink heels clicking. "Break!"

Sharon's head appeared through an open doorway. "Yes, m'Lady?" he asked, curiously looking up from a report of a Pandora meeting he had conveniently missed.

"The Barma household is holding a ball, and we'll be attending!" She said proudly, as if she had just presented him with a fantastic treat; that had been a habit of hers since she was little, Break never pointed it out in hopes that she would never grow out of it.

"Is that wise? We haven't physically aged in quite some years," Break responded.

"Don't worry," Sharon shooed the comment away. "It's a ball strictly for Pandora members, so no one will question our ages! However, I did find it uncharacteristically nice of Duke Barma, especially since he's not fond of public events..."

"My thoughts exactly," he answered, a slight glower on his face at the thought of what Barma could be planning; this could turn into a fiasco if he was intending to rifle through everyone for any information that could've possibly escaped him. "But, if you still desire to go, my Lady...I will of course escort you."

"I do. Seeing as my grandmother rejected Duke Barma's invitation, there still needs to be a Rainsworth representative. In all honestly," she suddenly became very shy. "If that was all then I would've simply sent you as our representative, but..."

"You like dancing," Break finished with a small smile. "Of course, you need time to flip your girly switch on, and you can hardly do that with just me for company!"

"Exactly!" Sharon beamed. "Now, be ready by noon, it will be quite a long carriage ride to the Barma household!" And thus she left with a bounce in her step.

However, Break's smile slipped clean off his face as soon as her skirt swished out of view. It had been a good year and a half since the discussion of her novels, and at least a year since he felt comfortable showing his face anywhere near the Barma household. It wasn't that he had done anything embarrassing, heaven forbid the infamous Mad Hatter make a true fool of himself; but it was the simple knowing that he could no longer be comfortable within Pandora related affairs for the tiniest amount of fear that he might do something foolish before someone he'd rather not even see.

Xerxes Break prided himself in his silver tongue, his mighty power, and the family he was tied to; but it was just that that landed him in front of the Barma manor dressed to the nines with a poise little girl beside him and the strongest desire to be anywhere but. Naturally, though, Break would be one of the last guests leaving.

Most balls were a simple matter of carefully avoiding dance and snagging sweets from the buffet left out for the nobility, occasionally exploring long, dark hallways and rooms he really shouldn't be visiting. But tonight was a new game Break was certain he'd lose. After all, how could one escape Reim Lunettes when he desired an audience with you?

So Break found himself escorting Lady Sharon to Duke Barma's side for a formal greeting and quickly retreating to the balcony as she scurried away to chatter with the other young ladies in the Pandora services.

The balcony was quiet and dark, hidden from the open space of the ball room by heavy curtains. It was empty and cool, standing alone and leaning against the ornate stone railing that prevented him from falling into the deep, black depths of the Barma garden below.

It occurred to Break that it wouldn't have been such a predicament if he had found himself fancying Lady Sharon or Lady Shelly, but his life had never been quite as simple, so there was little chance the universe would give him an easy way out now; because despite Reim being a beautiful, intriguing creature, he was still a man. And that created all sorts of complications.

Truth be told, Break didn't mind that. He didn't mind complications that could be worked out, though he rarely gave a helping hand of his own free will to people who were themselves all tangled up. It was more that he'd rather not be tangled at all; this was not a game he wanted to play and, yet, he was made to play it like an after-dinner entertainment skit. He was certain that, if shared, Lady Sharon would love every inch of his poor tale. But share he would not. He would not give his life away like a silly romance novel to be read by little ladies with too much time on their hands or to be displayed behind glass at the quaint, local bookstore. Instead of playing this game of love, he'd play a game of hide-n-seek; if running away from the servant of the Barma household meant he'd live his life waddling around on the ground like a preening peacock, craning his neck up to watch the other birds and never destined to fly himself, that didn't bother him. It just meant he'd never break his heart when he lost control of his wings and plummeted to the ground.


End file.
